


Cusp

by brentlordandsaviour



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Depression, Overdose, Schizophrenia, Stars, Suicide, because stars are pretty, cutting right at the end, frank iero is in it briefly, its all very platonic even the peterick, pete hallucinates a lot tbh, pete's parents are a bit stupid tbh, there isn't actually any petekey but there kind of is, triggering maybe at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 06:03:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6644272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brentlordandsaviour/pseuds/brentlordandsaviour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Let's just say that neither Pete or Mikey were very open to having another boy coming to stay with them.</p><p>For all Pete knew, he could have been a spy sent to find him by the agency he lived in fear of. He doesn't want to be taken away, but more importantly, another boy living at their house means there's a risk he is going to lose his best friend, and in all honesty, he'd probably rather lose control.</p><p>(This is a really bad description, Patrick moves in with Pete)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue / Chapter 1

Imagine having to live your whole life in fear; fear that some strange unknown was coming to get you; fear that everyone around you is plotting against you; fear that one day, the voices in your head were going to take over, and you were going to lose control completely.

Those were the fears that Pete Wentz lived with every day.

 

* * *

 

 

It was early one morning in the summer, and Pete woke up to the sound of the birds outside chirping away happily. Across the room in the camp-bed on the floor, he saw his best friend Mikey still asleep, and he knew that Mikey wouldn't be awake until way after lunch time, because Mikey loved sleeping late.

Pete always felt better when Mikey was awake, and constantly by his side. Pete's parents didn't mind; apart from generalised comments to both of the boys, they didn't even acknowledge Mikey's existence, so he hardly ever left the Wentz household. However, Pete's parents did often look worried when they found Pete and Mikey lying in the middle of Pete's bedroom floor together, even when they were often just laid in silence. They probably assumed there was something going on between them, but there wasn't. They were most definitely just friends. Pete wasn't gay, and as far as he knew, neither was Mikey.

Pete was glad that it was summer, because that meant he didn't have any schoolwork to do. He had been pulled out of school by his parents at the age of eleven, just after he met Mikey, but it was on doctor's orders- several doctors had advised that Pete "just wasn't stable enough" to go to school with all of the other kids, so instead he was subjected to homeschooling. It wasn't so bad- he didn't have to stick to any sort of strict curriculum, and he didn't have to sit exams, but after six years, it was beginning to get tedious.

He settled back down on his soft mattress, content with listening to the birds' sweet song, but the peacefulness was short lived, as his mother came bursting into the room not long afterwards.

"Petey?" she asked, her soft voice barely audible over the pleasant but loud noise from outside.

"Good morning, mom," he responded, his own voice cheery, although you could sense that he had a cold coming, due to the slight crackle of it, and the harsh sniffing which came afterwards.

"Come on, you need to get up. You have a doctor's appointment in an hour, and your father and I have something we need to discuss with you."

He had forgotten about his doctor's appointment- it was easy to forget things like that when you had no idea why you had to go to them. He figured it was just a normal seventeen year old boy thing, but he couldn't know for certain, as the only other seventeen year old boy he knew was Mikey, but he didn't have to go. He never had to go anywhere; Pete often found himself wondering whether Mikey even had a home, or a family, or anything that wasn't Pete.

He looked guiltily over to where Mikey was asleep; he hated leaving him alone, but he knew that Mikey would be okay. He might not even wake up, meaning Pete would be back before Mikey even had to know he was gone.

Pete's mom sighed, a mixture of frustrated and worried. "Mikey will be fine on his own for a couple of hours, Pete. Now, come on, please."

Pete obeyed his mother's orders, pulling himself out from under the covers, and grabbing the clothes he had thrown in a pile on the floor the previous day- his favourite jeans, black t-shirt and hoodie. He didn't bother with breakfast, promising himself that he would have a big lunch, and then brushed his teeth.

After this, he ran down the stairs, two at a time. His mother had sounded relatively happy when she came to get him up that morning, so he assumed that whatever his parents needed to discuss with him could only be a good thing.

But, the discussion never came, as his parents didn't emerge from their room until a minute or so before they were due to set off to the appointment, so Pete just guessed that they would have to talk about it afterwards.

They were almost late for the appointment, as because it was summer break, people were driving everywhere, and that was causing the roads to build up with traffic.

Pete sat on the hard plastic chair opposite the doctor, Doctor Iero. He was a short man with tattoos and a kind smile, and he was the best doctor Pete had ever had, in his opinion, and he had had quite a few.

Pete was never nervous talking with Doctor Iero, because he treated him as more of an equal than some kid he was being paid to listen to, as some of the past doctors had done.

They sat in silence for a good five minutes or so before Doctor Iero spoke, although in those five minutes, Pete noted that Doctor Iero had been observing his every move- where he looked in the room, what his fingers were doing, and the tune his left foot was tapping on the floor.

"So, Pete. How are you?" Doctor Iero said, flashing a small smile in Pete's direction, calming his fidgeting slightly.

"I'm good, thank you," Pete replied, returning the smile.

"And how's Mikey?"

"He's good too. I'm worried about him though, a little bit."

"Hmm," Pete's doctor thought for a moment before continuing with a simple question- "And why is that?"

Pete smiled a little before answering. Aside from Pete himself, Doctor Iero was the only person who treated Mikey like he mattered. His parents _put up_ with him, but they did that by pretending he just wasn't there, and it was quite surprising to Pete that Mikey never said anything about it, because he was sure that it must hurt his feelings quite a lot.

"Well, it's just that he is sleeping an awful lot. We usually stay up talking until one or two in the morning, and then he sleeps until sometimes three in the afternoon. It's getting later and later- it was nearly eight o'clock the other evening."

Doctor Iero sighed. He scrawled some notes down on the piece of paper in front of him as Pete asked a question.

"Do you think, maybe, that I should get my mom to bring him to you? I mean, she's practically his mom now, I'm sure she wouldn't mind. Could you help him?" Pete sounded so hopeful, and Doctor Iero didn't want to bring him crashing down. He was one of those people where you really had to be careful how you phrased things. One single word could send him into an episode, and he would sit alone in his room for hours on end, with only Mikey for company, which was really not beneficial to his health, in Doctor Iero's (or just any good doctor, to be honest) opinion.

"Sorry, Pete. I don't think I'm the right guy to help Mikey." The hopeful expression on Pete's face was wiped away immediately, so Iero quickly thought of something. "I do have a friend who might be able to help, though. I'll call him for you."

* * *

 

Doctor Iero was relieved when the allotted half hour appointment time was done. He liked Pete, but he could be tiring. He sent Pete out of the office, promising he'd be in touch with his nonexistent sleep doctor friend, and he invited Pete's parents in.

"I don't think he's doing any worse," were the first words that the doctor said to them, before they were even properly sat down. "But I don't think he's doing much better, either."

"His obsession with that boy is growing," Pete's mom pointed out.

"It really wouldn't do him any good to try and pull him away, though. The best thing you can do is make sure that he takes his pills, and keep a close eye on him, especially in his lows," Doctor Iero said. "Pete refuses to believe that there is anything strange about his relationship with Mikey. I believe that we should just play it out, see how things go."

"What has he said about the kid?" Pete's dad asked. He rarely spoke during the meetings with his son's doctor. There was a part of him which was embarrassed that his only child was in such a state that he had to see a psychiatrist in the first place, and there was another part of him which was angry; he felt that, somehow, it was his fault.

"There's nothing much else I can tell you- patient confidentiality. Well, I'll schedule another appointment for next month. Keep on top of the pills- they really seem to lessen the symptoms, from what I can tell."

Mr and Mrs Wentz went to stand up, as Mrs Wentz remembered the other thing she was supposed to ask.

"One last thing, Doctor Iero- what would you say about getting Pete a friend?" she asked the question as though she was talking about getting a second pet dog. "A real friend, I mean. You know, a human, not Mikey friend," she added.

"What do you mean?" he questioned. Was she considering adopting? He doubted they would let her, considering she already had a teenage son deemed mentally unstable by various medical professionals.

"A family friend from Chicago's son. He's a little younger than Pete. She needs to go over to Australia for a month or two, family death or something. She asked if we could look after him, but I was just a little worried, after what happened with-"

Doctor Iero held up his hand, signalling her to stop talking. He didn't need to hear Pete's background story again. He heard it almost every time Mrs Wentz stepped into his office. Pete was probably one of his most _interesting_ patients, you could give the kid that, but that didn't mean he wanted to hear the same story all the time.

"Well, there's no harm in trying, is there?" he answered with a charming smile, before ushering the Wentz' out of his office and closing the door, wanting to make the most of his ten minutes of peace before his next patient arrived.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Pete was not quite as open to the idea of another boy staying in the house as Doctor Iero had been. In fact, it was probably fairly safe to say that he was horrified.

His parents told him when they arrived back at their house, but after he went to check on Mikey, who, he was both pleased and slightly worried to see, was still sound asleep. At least he didn't have to know that Pete had left him alone.

But now Pete was back up in his room, after storming upstairs and away from his parents. It was outrageous! He didn't need anyone else, he had Mikey. If another boy was to come and stay in his room, either him or Mikey would have to sleep elsewhere, and he could take a wild guess as to who it would be.

Pete was also slightly scared of the concept of letting another person into his life. For years, it had just been him, Mikey, his parents, and a few other random adults, including his various doctors. He was always nervous meeting new people, scared he was going to say or do something which would make a fool of himself. It was what he always seemed to do. He wasn't too sure quite _how_ to socialise properly. After all, he had had very limited experiences.

He sat in his room for hours, completely missing the big lunch he had promised himself. He was very excited when Mikey woke up at 3:30 that afternoon. He needed to rant to his best friend about how stupid his parents were, thinking they could just shove some other kid into his life.

Mikey sat for well over an hour in silence, just letting Pete get out all of his feelings. When he was fairly sure that the shouting and screaming about how unfair his life was, he made his way over to the bed, and put his arm around Pete.

That was another thing Pete didn't quite understand about the boy who practically lived with him. Whenever he touched Pete, it was so lightly that it felt as though there was nothing touching him at all. Pete never dwelled on it, though, he was just glad that someone was there for him in all the times his parents weren't.

The two eventually dragged themselves down the stairs and into the kitchen when Mrs Wentz called them for dinner. She had made pizza and fries- simple, yet effective, as it was both Pete and Mikey's favourite. However, much to Pete's annoyance, she had only made enough for one person.

"Mom," he whined. He knew she wouldn't ignore it- she hated it when he whined.

"Yes?" she asked, obviously irritated.

"Why've you only made enough for me?"

"Because it's only you eating. Your father and I are ordering a takeout," she answered, her words snappy. She was probably still pissed about his outburst earlier, although she should have seen it coming.

"Mikey, mom. Mikey's eating too," he corrected her. He didn't understand how she could keep forgetting; Mikey had been around the majority of the time for the past six years. Surely by now she should've gotten used to it. Rather than replying to her son's comment, she turned her back on him and walked out, shielding her face carefully so that he wouldn't notice her tearing up at the mention of Mikey.

Pete grabbed the plate with the food, and an extra one from the drainer, and took them over to the table, setting a place for him and one for Mikey too. He made an attempt to split the food evenly between the two, but seeing that there wasn't all that much of it, Mikey insisted he wasn't hungry, and gave his share of the pizza and most of his fries back to Pete. The boy lived an unhealthy lifestyle, and Pete often tried to talk to him about it, but he changed the subject before it could get too serious. He didn't want Pete insisting that _he_ go see a doctor too. He couldn't imagine how much of a toll that would be on the family.

* * *

 

Naturally, Pete's parents didn't listen to him, and that is how he found himself hiding in his room a week later, anticipating the moment the strange boy was going to walk in and ruin his life.

Pete sat in bed next to Mikey, and was now just whispering to him furiously, having cried all the tears he could possibly squeeze out. He figured he was having what Doctor Iero would describe as a downfall; he was becoming more irritable, anxious and downright depressed by the day, and he knew that sooner or later, he would probably get to that point at 'rock bottom' when he wanted to kill himself again. Not that he had already killed himself, just that he had wanted to in the past. His mom had noticed his sudden change in mood, from the happy-go-lucky boy he had been last week, and was now keeping an extra-close eye on him, making completely sure he was taking all of his pills. Pete hated taking his pills; they basically rendered him a vegetable, unable to think or feel properly. They were supposed to be making him better, from what, he didn't know exactly, but all they did was make him rather angry, because nobody believed that he was capable of just living like any normal person.

He heard the doorbell go downstairs, and he buried his face deep in Mikey's shoulder. It was nice knowing that despite all of this, Mikey liked Pete so much that he had decided to stay, and he promised to try and get along with the new boy, who Pete's mom had taught them was called Patrick. He was fifteen, and had lived in Chicago all his life. His mom and Pete's had been friends since kindergarten. And now he was coming and invading their house.

He could be anybody, Pete had no idea. Just the fact that their parents had known each other for decades did nothing to soothe Pete's racing thoughts. For all he knew, this Patrick kid could be another spy, working for the agency who had been out to get him the year before last. He found it strange that they hadn't been back after him in a while. It was probably about time.

That was the only logical explanation. Patrick was a spy, and he would be passing any information Pete gave him onto his boss. Pete knew it then; he would be captured in days, weeks if he was lucky.

He didn't know exactly why they wanted him, or what they wanted with him, but they did want him, and they wouldn't stop until they got him. They were so close last time, but he had been saved just in time. He couldn't remember how, or who by, but it still resulted in a stay in the hospital. He had no recollection of the event, or the six months leading up to it, but it was definitely them. It _had_ to be them.

He so hoped it wasn't them.

He wasn't ready yet.

He didn't want to have to start fighting again.

He heard the bottom stair creak. Someone was coming up the stairs, either his mom, or Patrick the Spy himself. Pete reached under his bed and pulled out a bundled up pair of black gloves. He had worn them every day since the attack, up until a few months ago, terrified that the agency would be able to track him by his fingerprints. Slowly, though, Doctor Iero had eased him out of the gloves, making him believe that touching things was, in fact, safe, and put him in absolutely no danger whatsoever.

Pete did feel kind of bad about reversing all of that work in just a matter of seconds, but his safety mattered so much more than what some thirty-something year old thought.

Now he thought about it, perhaps Doctor Iero was a spy, too. He had been assigned to his case almost straight after his departure from the hospital, Pete had never thought about that before, but now, it all seemed a little too planned, a little too suspicious, to all be coincidence.

He was just being set up.

To them, the agency, it was all just a game, a fucking game designed to mess with Pete's head, until he was weak enough to be captured, or he surrendered, whichever came first.

His mouth felt extremely dry and his back extremely sweaty, all with nerves, as someone knocked on the door- the stranger, he assumed, as he didn't recognise the knock.

And then, Pete accepted that maybe, just maybe, being captured by them was his fate, but he would do anything to stop that from happening, or at least just to prolong his freedom.

Mikey gave him a quick squeeze of the hand and a brave smile, and Pete went to answer the door, unsure of what was to come.

 

]


	3. Chapter 3

Pete reached a black, gloved hand out for the handle, and pulled the door open two inches, cautiously peering round it, to ensure that his time had not already run out.

But, much to his relief, he was greeted by a teenage boy.

The boy wasn't very tall. He wore almost identical black skinny jeans to Pete, but instead of the band t-shirt and hoodie, he sported a plain white t-shirt, a maroon cardigan, a black leather jacket and a fedora. He had blonde-brown hair and large glasses over his eyes.

He smiled at Pete, a nice, wide, pretty genuine smile. He looked relieved that he wasn't being greeted by a hulk-like monster. Pete wondered what his mom had told the stranger about him.

Pete was also fairly relieved. The kid looked pretty harmless, and he didn't wear the black suit and tie of the agency people, but Pete still knew not to trust him. After all, he knew what the agency agents looked like now. If they were sending in a spy, they would probably disguise him as something that wasn't a spy, for example, a dorky fifteen year old boy from Chicago, Illinois.

"What?" the boy asked Pete. Pete felt his cheeks burning up. He must have been staring. It was just a bad thing that happened when he started thinking; he generally stared. Great. He had just ruined any chance they may have had at a fairly normal relationship.

"Hey, it's okay. I'm just messing. I'm Patrick," the boy said. It was almost as if you could picture/hear the cheesy little text smiley face consisting of a bracket then a colon coming straight after his introduction. Pete couldn't tell if this was real-nice, nervous-nice or downright fake-nice, but whatever it was, Pete didn't like it. He didn't like it when he couldn't read people.

"Pete," Pete muttered in return, stalking back over to sit next to Mikey on his bed.

Patrick entered the room after Pete, and also went to the bed.

"Can I sit?" he asked politely.

"Sure. Whatever." In all honesty, Pete wanted the boy to leave; to go right back to Chicago and never come back, but he knew fine well that that wasn't going to happen, so he figured that until he knew exactly what was going on with the boy - Patrick - he would just attempt to treat him as a sort-of-acquaintance.

Pete was very confused when Patrick proceeded to sit down next to him, and right on top of Mikey, either not hearing or totally ignoring the yelp that left his mouth. Pete glared at Patrick.

"What?"

"You're sitting on Mikey!"

"Mikey? Ohh..." Pete's mom had told Patrick about Pete's best friend.

Pete stopped glaring once Patrick had moved off Mikey and instead took a seat on the floor.

For the next hour, Patrick talked. He talked about himself, what he liked to do, and his life in Chicago, as well as quizzing Pete, only Pete didn't co-operate. He listened to Patrick, but he refused to answer any of his questions, because no matter how nice he seemed, Pete knew that the likelihood of Patrick being a spy was quite high, and the less information the agency knew about him, the better.

That evening, Pete and Mikey chose not to go down to dinner. They only wanted each other's company, not that of Mr and Mrs Wentz, and especially not that of Patrick. In fact, they couldn't think of anything worse.

They sat cross-legged on the floor. They weren't talking, just facing each other. They didn't have to talk. Pete somehow always knew what Mikey was thinking, almost as if they had a connection, a link between their brains. The fact that there was a large possibility that Mikey always knew what Pete was thinking didn't scare Pete in the slightest, like it probably should have done. Anyone else, and Pete would probably spend a lot of time devising ways to stop them from doing it; he hated even thinking about the idea that anyone could read his mind, know his secrets. It was his worst nightmare, after being caught by the agency, and losing Mikey. But Mikey was different. The fact that he knew what he was thinking genuinely didn't bother Pete.

As if proving Pete's point about the link between their minds, Mikey shuffled closer to Pete, and rested a hand on his shoulder. Pete smiled. It was nice having Mikey around, even if it was a tad strange. Did his parents not miss him?

Pete tried to stop thinking about Mikey's home life, but it was almost impossible. Perhaps something horrible had happened to him. Perhaps he didn't even have parents- they could have been killed, or abandoned him, or something. He hated to imagine anything bad could have happened to Mikey, he was such a good person. He never spoke about his home life. It was one of the subjects he always took care to avoid.

Of course, Mikey could hear all of these thoughts rushing about Pete's head, so he attempted to make them stop by actually opening his mouth and talking. They sat telling stories and jokes, and Pete was instantly cheered up. He was so glad to have Mikey as a best friend.

* * *

 

Patrick sat at the dinner table with Pete's parents, whom he had met properly for the first time earlier that day, after fifteen years of hearing stories from his own mom about how cool she was, and all of the parties and social events they used to go to.

Needless to say, dinner was damn awkward.

There were a few words of conversation here and there, but aside from that, they sat in silence. Patrick quickly figured that Pete wouldn't be joining them for dinner, so he made the conscious decision to take him up some food later on. There was no noise from upstairs, so Patrick wondered what the hell Pete could be doing up there. On second thoughts, Patrick decided he'd actually rather not know.

"So, Patrick, how's Pete?" Pete's mom asked.

"He's okay," Patrick responded. A look of relief settled on her face. Pete was really not okay, everyone at the dinner table knew that, but in Patrick's opinion, he was nowhere near as bad as he had been made out to be.

"And... His," she paused, looking pained, making a hand movement which Patrick was sure meant literally nothing, "friend?"

Patrick should have seen it coming. "Mikey? He really means a lot to Pete, doesn't he?"

"Too much, I think," Pete's mom said. "I just wish Pete would listen to us about him, but he denies whatever we say."

At that point, Patrick excused himself from the dinner table, clearing his uneaten food into the bin, and trading his now empty plate for Pete's full one.

"His pills are in the top cupboard, in the first little box."

Patrick opened the cupboard and pulled out the box containing the pills; quite a lot of pills for a seventeen year old.

He put the box of pills on the side of the plate, and took it up the stairs. There was laughing coming from within Pete's room, and in Patrick's ears, it was such a nice sound, one you would never imagine to be coming from such a troubled person, although Patrick couldn't imagine what he could be laughing at.

He opened the door, plate still in hand, and entered the room. Pete sat in the middle of the floor, cross-legged, still laughing, and Patrick could have sworn that that smile could cure the worst of diseases, but evidently it couldn't, because here Pete was, a whole set of problems of his own.

"Pete?" Patrick said. He felt awful about making him jump so badly, although if it was possible, his smile widened and his eyes lit up even more at the sight of the food Patrick was carrying, not even noticing the pills that came along as a sort of unwanted side order.

"What's so funny, Pete? Who you talking to?" Patrick asked, although the answer was fairly obvious.

"Mikey, he's been telling me funny jokes," Pete replied, an answer which didn't make Patrick very happy in the slightest. He set the plate down on the desk inside the room, and turned on his heel.

Pete only just caught the words that Patrick said as he closed the door, although he wished he hadn't: "There's nobody there, Pete."

 


	4. Chapter 4

Pete hated Patrick.

And that was that.

Of course Mikey was real- how could he not be real? He was literally sat opposite Pete, talking to him, when Patrick came in.

It wasn't the first time Pete had been told Mikey wasn't real. He was twelve, and had known Mikey for around half a year, and he had just got a new doctor, Doctor Bryar.

_"So, Pete," Dr Bryar said, a small smile on his face which made Pete feel slightly uncomfortable. "How are you?"_

_It wasn't Pete's first time inside the doctors office, however he still didn't know why he was there, or exactly what was supposed to happen. All he wanted was to leave, and to go back home, and to get on with his schoolwork so he could go and play outside with Mikey._

_"I'm fine, thank you," Pete replied politely._

_Doctor Bryar formed a full smile, and Pete felt more at ease, although he was desperate to know what the doctor was scribbling on the piece of paper._

_"Why am I here?" It was a question Pete asked every time he was taken to see a doctor, something which was becoming more and more common. Back when he was still attending school, he rarely had doctors appointments, annually for his checkups, and then only if he was sick. But now, he was there every other week, and nobody explained to him why. Whenever he asked the doctors, they avoided the question, demanding instead to know about Pete's favorite movies, favorite school subjects, basically anything that didn't have to do with why he was sat talking to a guy with a clipboard who was analysing his every action. When he asked his parents, they generally just shook their heads, and started a conversation with each other instead, sometimes ushering Pete out of the room. Occassionly he heard them talking about him, but he only ever heard odd words of their conversations, like 'Mikey', 'imaginary', 'school environment', 'unstable'... he could have sworn he even once heard 'crazy'. All he wanted was to understand what was going on. Everyone started acting strange since he met Mikey._

_"Well, Pete, you're here about your friend, Mikey," Doctor Bryar answered him, as if it was the most obvious thing ever. It wasn't obvious in the slightest to Pete. If this was about Mikey, why wasn't it him sat answering random, useless questions, being watched constantly, being talked about behind closed doors, rather than Pete?_

_"What about him? Is he okay? What's wrong with him?" Pete asked frantically. Despite knowing him for only a short time, Pete classed Mikey as his best friend. He wasn't ready to let go of him any time soon._

_Doctor Bryar sat, still and silent, looking Pete straight in the eye, before sucking in a deep breath, and breathing it out again. He didn't really consider the fact that he was talking to a probably confused, moderately unstable twelve year old when he spoke the next few words. But, it was the truth that Pete wanted, in Doctor Bryar's opinion, only to Pete, what Doctor Bryar said wasn't the truth at all._

_"It's more about what's wrong with you, Pete. You're sick. You have an illness."_

_"But you just said that this was about Mikey. How does that have anything to do with Mikey. Is it contagious? Did I catch it from him?"_

_"No, Pete. You see, it's rather simple. Because of your illness, you may see things, hear things, sense things that aren't there. You believe they're there, but in reality, they're just a figment of your imagination. Pete, Mikey isn't real."_

_Pete sat in silence, his mouth literally wide open in shock. He refused to believe it. Mikey was real; how could he not be? This was all just some sick joke, or a dream, or something. Pete pinched himself, in an attempt to wake himself up, to bring him back to reality. But, even with numerous attempts at waking himself up, he stayed sat there, stuck in the doctor's office, being told that his best friend- his only friend- didn't actually exist._

_"Pete?" Doctor Bryar said the boy's name several times, but he didn't respond until Doctor Bryar stood up out of his seat and shook Pete's shoulders vigorously. Pete's head snapped up. All the doctor was doing was messing with his head._

_"Why?"_

_"Why what, Pete?"_

_"Why would you lie to me like that? Tell me he's not real? I know he's real, I see him every day!"_

_But before the doctor could answer, Pete had stormed out of the office, tears of fury streaming down his face. He ignored his mother and father shouting after him, desperate to know what had happened, and went outside, where he knew Mikey would be waiting for him. And there he was._

Needless to say, that was not only the first, but the last time that Pete saw Doctor Bryar, but it was not the last time that Mikey's existence had been denied. He had gone through many periods of shunning his parents after they too had told him that Mikey wasn't real. However, everyone had laid off a lot since his 'accident' (it wasn't an accident that the agency attacked him, just an accident that he was still alive) and nobody had told him that Mikey wasn't real until Patrick had. Pete was proud that Mikey had stood strong throughout everyone being extremely rude about him. What Pete didn't understand was, if they didn't want Mikey living with them, why they had to come up with some elaborate scheme of pretending that he wasn't real, upsetting Pete in the process, rather than just telling him to go back to his own parents, his own home. It would have made much more sense.

By the time Patrick returned to Pete's bedroom at around 10:30pm, after watching some interesting TV shows (and one extremely trashy talent competition) with Mr and Mrs Wentz, Pete and Mikey were both asleep in Pete's bed, curled up together under the covers. If Pete was aware of what was going on in his room, he probably should have been glad that it was Patrick, and not one of his parents, who had entered his room, because it definitely looked like they could have been something more than friends.

Patrick looked around the room, noticing things he hadn't before. On the desk sat a battered dictionary, opened to the letter 'd', and whilst this had absolutely no significance to anything, Patrick did wonder why the dictionary remained open, and wasn't closed after the last use, as it would have been had it been sitting in _his_ bedroom.

On the shelf above Pete's bed, there was an assortment of trophies and medals. In the dim light, Patrick could just make out that there were some for achievements in soccer, music and academia.

Possibly the most random thing in the room, something which he imagined that maybe a five-year-old, but not a seventeen-year-old, would have, was the rock, which sat on the windowsill. But this wasn't just a plain rock. This rock had three 'legs' (sticks attached with tape), two eyes, and a wonky, drawn-on smile, and a paper plaque in front of it, the messy handwriting on this paper plaque reading 'Steve', written in what seemed to be red wax crayon. The letter 's' was backwards, and the paper was tattered and worn, leading Patrick to believe it was at least a few years old. He would definitely be questioning Pete about that in the morning.

Patrick took off his jeans and cardigan, and his glasses, and changed his white t-shirt for a washed out black one which had belonged to his older cousin before him. There had been print on it once upon a time, but having been worn and washed repeatedly over at least ten years, it had mostly scratched off and was no longer visible. It was once his cousins favourite t-shirt, and even though it was old and battered, Patrick made sure he smuggled it out when they cleared out his belongings when he went to university. If you looked carefully enough, on the label you could faintly see 'Joe Trohman' written in Sharpie.

Patrick sighed as he folded up his belongings- not a heavy, frustrated sigh, more of a cute, exhausted sigh- and put them on the floor beside the camp-bed which was his residence for the next few weeks. He got into bed very gently, shuffling down under the covers rather than throwing them back, jumping into bed, and then throwing them back on top of himself, which was exactly how Mikey got into the bed every night, and if you asked Pete, the way that Mikey got in to bed would be his reason for the bed creaking and groaning every time you moved more than half an inch. It was definitely not the comfiest of things to sleep in.

Patrick reached for where his phone lay on the floor charging. There was one text on his home screen, sent by his mom several hours previously, to let him know that she was boarding her flight and would call him 'at some point'. As he expected, there was nothing else. He had at least hoped that one of his friends (okay, they were hardly friends and more acquaintances-of-convenience) would have messaged to ask why there was no-one home, but no. It was evident that he wasn't going to be missed. Patrick highly doubted that he would be making friends here, either. So far, the only people he had met were the Wentz', and unless Pete decided to stop hating him, there really wasn't much potential there. There had to be something he could do to make friends; perhaps he could encourage Mrs Wentz to let him and Pete go to the mall or something.

Patrick plugged his headphones in, and hit shuffle. He didn't get much time to appreciate the music which was flowing into his ears, however, because he was unconscious almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.


	5. Chapter 5

Pete had been awake for hours. It was nearly ten, and he sat in his bed, watching Mikey and Patrick sleep. Although many people would probably find it creepy, Pete found sleep very fascinating. He had already dedicated many mornings to observing Mikey while he was asleep, and so he decided on this particular morning to focus more on his new roommate.

Much to Pete's annoyance, however, Patrick slept almost exactly like Mikey- quiet and still. His breaths made barely any noise, and he barely moved.

He was, however, a very light sleeper. As soon as Pete had managed to scramble over the top of Mikey and had stood on the floor, he made his way over to his door so he could go to the bathroom, but Patrick woke up at the sound of the creaking floorboard. Patrick sat up and ran his fingers through his hair before reaching for his glasses. Pete was frozen, staring at Patrick once again.

"Pete?" he asked quietly, as he was still half asleep.

As much as Pete wanted to ignore him, he knew that that was rude, so he shrugged and responded with, "Bathroom," before continuing straight out of the room.

Patrick dug out his mobile from where it had buried itself under his pillow as he slept and unlocked it. Once again, he was greeted with no new messages, no notifications whatsoever. He paused the music which was still playing, before putting his phone back down, taking his glasses off and rolling over back to sleep, unconscious before Pete returned.

When he woke up later, just after noon, he was greeted by Pete sat on the floor in front of his bed, knees hunched up to his chest, left arm wrapped around them and right running through his hair repeatedly, breathing heavily. He looked distressed and in pain.

"Pete? You okay?" Patrick decided it was better to ask the question even though it was evident that Pete wasn't okay at all. Rather than giving a verbal reply, Pete just swallowed and shook his head. Patrick swung his legs out of bed and went to sit beside the older boy, but didn't touch him.

"Listen to me, okay?" Patrick said. He had no idea what was happening to the older boy but he felt that considering he was there, and he had noticed Pete on the floor across the room, and there was nobody else helping Pete through whatever the hell sort of freakish attack thing this was, he should probably do it himself. Patrick shuffled himself around on the floor so he was instead facing Pete, although still not touching him, still with distance between them.

"Pete, has this happened before?" Patrick asked, concerned for the other's wellbeing, because face it, who wouldn't be if you woke up to your new roomie like that. Pete thought for a second before nodding slightly, a look of pain crossing his face. He was still pretty much hyperventilating so Patrick decided to try fix that first.

"Pete, I need you to do something for me, okay? I'm going to breathe, and I need you to breathe with me." Patrick said it sort of like an order, but in a nice way rather than a mean way. He was sure that he had read somewhere, probably Tumblr, about breathing techniques and calming panic attacks, which is what he assumed this was, although he would need confirmation of that from Pete after he was in a better state of mind, and physical state, and just better state altogether really.

So, Patrick started breathing systematically, looking right at Pete, willing him to do it too, because whatever was happening to him was really scary for Patrick, and Patrick could only imagine it must be pretty scary for Pete too. Which it was, only it had happened to Pete before, so he kinda knew what to expect, but it was scary all the same. He was glad for Patrick's presence, however, because in the past, he had always been alone at these times, left to deal with the sudden intense feelings which came to him all by himself, and to be honest, he didn't really know how to deal with them at all, and in the past he had curled up on the floor for several hours until he felt completely better again, or fell asleep due to exhaustion from the attack, whichever came first. And yes, sleep sounds nice, but somehow, sometimes the sleep was still full of panic and then came the nightmares and sleep filled with nightmares is not nice, not nice at all.

Luckily for Patrick, after a few rounds of solo systematic breathing, Pete attempted to co-operate, and at first his breath seemed to get caught a little, and the pained look on his face remained, but slowly, he seemed to calm down, and the breathing became more natural, and his right hand lowered from his hair to join his left around his knees, and once Patrick was fairly sure that Pete was now okay, Patrick also breathed normally, and for the first time since they had met the previous day, they exchanged a small smile.

"I don't..." Pete begun, but Patrick broke the eye contact between them and looked at the floor sadly, before cutting Pete off and talking himself.

"Listen, I don't really know what that was, and if you don't want to talk, that's totally fine, whatever. But, I think, maybe, talking would actually help you a bit. I don't know, do I, because I'm not inside your head. You know what you wanna do, man, but if you wanna talk, then you can talk to me, okay?" Patrick decided not to mention the fact that really, technically, Pete couldn't decide what was best for himself, and that was the reason he had a psychiatrist to make all of his life decisions for him, but whatever.

Pete nodded, and let out a little sigh. Patrick let out a sigh in reply.

"Thanks, man," Pete said, his decision not to discuss his problems with Patrick right at this moment remaining unspoken, but obvious, yet not in an ungrateful way, because Pete was extremely grateful for the help he had just received from Patrick.

"No problem," Patrick responded, glad that he could even help Pete slightly. It made him feel good, not in a cocky, selfish way, just knowing that you've made someone's day a little better, it's a mood boost.

* * *

 

"It's about Mikey. He's gone, Patrick, just disappeared."

It was a few hours later, hours which had been filled with two teenage boys sat on the floor in t-shirts and underwear, laughing and talking and just being teenagers, really.

Pete had shared with Patrick stories about some of his crazy old doctors, some of his friends from elementary school, his six years practically half-voluntarily isolated from pretty much everyone. And, in return, Patrick had shared some funny stories from back home, about his old group of friends from middle school- Joe, the guitarist with the afro, and his fitness freak drummer boyfriend Andy, as well as the girl who was overly obsessed with band members, and frequently rambled on about "rights for pretty much anything" (Patrick swore that at one point she genuinely made a speech about rehoming folders or something), who had now started a band with these two other people she'd met at high school. But there were some sad ones too, because after middle school, Patrick had moved to a new school district, where he knew no-one, and he didn't fit in, and eventually gave up making friends. He sat with these music kids called Brendon and Ryan and Spencer and Jon at lunch, but they weren't exactly his friends, they just let him sit at their table. They rarely ever engaged in conversation.

And Patrick told Pete something he'd only ever told Joe, and that was only after Joe had told Patrick the exact same thing: it would be pretty damn cool to be in a band. It was nothing to do with the money, or the fame, or the 'rebellion', because 'screw education' and whatnot, it was because all Patrick wanted to do was to make other people happy, whilst making himself happy, because he'd be roaming the country in a van with his best friends in the entire world. The only problem for Patrick was that he felt he didn't have enough talent. He wasn't overly skilled at an instrument, couldn't write lyrics, and hated his singing voice, plus, last time he was on stage, he took one look at the crowd and fainted, and that was in a Christmas production at one of his old schools.

And, after their hours of laughing and talking and having a chance, finally, at normal teenagerness, Pete decided to take Patrick up on his offer after all, and opened up about what had been bothering him earlier. Patrick didn't really know how to respond, so he edged slightly closer to Pete, and reached out a hand, and when Pete didn't make any physical attempt to stop Patrick, Patrick proceeded to place his hand on Pete's shoulder, in a way which he hoped was comforting.

Pete tried to hold back the tears, he felt pathetic crying. It wasn't like Mikey hadn't just gone before. He always came back. He was gone for a while that time Pete had been put on those really strong meds, but after he was taken off them, Mikey returned, claiming he was scared of Pete when he was on the strong meds, so he thought it best to stay away.

Patrick didn't have to question why Pete was crying, and he didn't judge, either. He figured that if his best and only friend, the only other non-adult he really knew, just disappeared on him, he would feel pretty similar to Pete, and after all, it wasn't like Patrick hadn't spent many a night crying to himself over everything and nothing.

No other words had to be spoken between the two of them. Pete responded positively to the hand on the shoulder, liking the feeling of Patrick's hand on his shoulder. There was nothing sexual about it, it was purely just having the feeling of another human being caring about him, that made Pete feel a little better, and that was what caused some sort of chain reaction in Pete's brain, which was what lead to Pete shuffling closer to Patrick, and pulling the younger boy into a hug, and Patrick was crying too, by now, but he wasn't totally sure whether he was crying out of happiness or sadness. Somewhere underneath all the tears, though, the two of them managed to look up at each other and smile a full smile.

And, there was a little thought in the back of Pete's mind, something which he wasn't certain whether it was good or bad.

Maybe Patrick wasn't so bad after all.

 


	6. Chapter 6

It was three days on and there was still no sign of Mikey, and Pete was worried, because it was the longest he'd been away in a while, and so Pete sure as hell hoped he had a good explanation.

Patrick, however, was worried a lot less about Mikey's whereabouts, and a lot more about Pete's mental state. After their day together, Pete had made an obvious effort to engage in conversation more with everyone in the house, but Patrick noticed that everything seemed fake, cold; his eyes never lit up when he smiled, he would stop listening and stare in to space randomly, and Patrick had had to help him through several more panic attacks, which Pete had begged him not to tell his parents about.

So, that morning (Patrick had lost track of what day it was by this point, as you usually do in the summer holidays, because all of the days seem to blend in to one big messy day, but thats beside the point), when Patrick eventually woke up, he decided to try and confront Pete again.

He did his usual morning routine, of sitting up and stretching and cracking his wrists and putting on his glasses and ruffling his hair, only he no longer checked his phone, mostly because he couldn't, because the battery was completely flat. What's the point in charging it if nobody contacts you anyway? Even his mom had given up.

He faced Pete's bed and was a little confused to see Pete still in it, tucked under the covers, asleep, Patrick assumed, because he was still and breathing steadily. This was unusual; Pete was always up early, and when Patrick woke up, was always sat on his already made bed, staring at Patrick, or reading, or sat on the floor, or already downstairs, patiently waiting for Patrick to finally stumble down the stairs himself and make an appearance.

Patrick decided to make the most of the opportunity, and went and got a fresh towel out of the cupboard, before going in to the bathroom and taking a hot shower. By the time he woke up, it was usually too late to shower, so he tended to do it at night, but it doesn't hurt anyone to have two showers in a day.

When he re-emerged twenty or so minutes later, he was not only clean, but had a pretty good idea of what he was going to say to Pete. He needed to get the message that he didn't think something was quite right across to Pete without hurting his feelings, and he had already figured that it would be difficult.

Only, he didn't get a chance to talk to Pete, at least not initially, because Pete was sat in the corner of his bed furthest from the wall, shaking, panicking, although again, Patrick was just assuming, panicking, even though the two were yet to go anywhere near a disco.

He flinched quite visibly when Patrick entered the room, almost as if he didn't really believe he was there at all, and when Patrick came over and sat on his bed, he cried, one silent tear, of sadness or fear or happiness or whatever else, Patrick didn't know.

"Pete? Come on, what's wrong?" Patrick asked, trying his best not to sound patronizing or not genuine.

"Just Mikey... and-" Pete could barely get the words out.

Not wanting to force him, Patrick said softly, "It's okay, Pete," before Pete grabbed his hand and squeezed tight. Patrick squeezed back, and felt a slight pain in his chest; he could not even begin to imagine how hard it was for Pete, what Pete had to deal with every day, because Pete couldn't just be _normal_ , because Pete had a best friend nobody else could see.

"No, no, Patrick, it's not okay, you need to go, you need to tell my mom to take you somewhere safe Patrick, because otherwise you'll get hurt."

"Pete, I don't understand..?" Patrick was curious. There was no potential danger, surely, his own mother would never have left him here if there was, but whatever it was, it was evidently distressing Pete greatly, and that alone worried Patrick.

"JUST GO AND GET MY MOM!" Pete screamed, and Patrick decided it was in both of their best interests to do so, so he retreated out of the room, keeping his eyes on Pete, no movement in the other boy's body apart from the rise and fall of his chest, before turning and running down the stairs to the kitchen where Pete's mother was.

"Patrick, dear? Are you okay?" she asked, her back to him, soft voice calming, but barely audible over the sound of the flow of water into the sink as she washed the previous evening's dishes.

"I- I-" He struggled to hold back his fear, and the tears threatening to roll down his cheeks. He took a large breath, in an attempt at pulling himself together, before trying again. "It's Pete."

She cut off the water immediately, and turned, looking at the small, scared boy in front of her; she was used to her son's behavior, whereas he really didn't have much of a clue, and had every right to be scared and upset and unsure, really, of what to do.

"Why? What's he said, Patrick?"

"Not much..." He sniffed, before continuing, "He was on his bed, shaking, and Mikey disappeared a few days ago, and he keeps having these weird panic attack things but begged me not to tell you, and when I went in the room he flinched and I tried to comfort him and he told me we had to get away from here because I'd get hurt and-"

He got all of the words out in one breath, reaching straight for his inhaler when Pete's mom cut him off to begin talking herself; he couldn't breathe.

"Patrick, it's okay. I... Um, thank you!" she said, before hastily running up the stairs to where her son was still stationary in his bedroom, pressed right up against the wall. Patrick followed behind her, but stayed in the doorway when she burst into the room and sat beside Pete.

"Pete, honey," she began, but he put a finger to her lips; gloved, which Patrick hadn't noticed before - just like it was when the two of them had first met.

"No, mom, no, you can't be here, you need to get him out of here!"

"Him? Mikey?" Pete had never insisted on Mikey being protected to this extent alone before.

"Mikey isn't here, mom, Mikey's gone to them! You need to get Patrick safe, mom, please, and just let them get me, he can't get hurt, you can't let him get hurt, please!"

She ushered Patrick back downstairs, and then picked up Pete, carrying him out to the car, where Patrick brought him his black Converse All Stars, covered in song lyrics written in Sharpie.

When they were all in the car, she drove, and none of them knew where exactly they were going, but they drove and drove for hours, ending up out of state, only stopping to get a bite to eat at a small diner in the middle of nowhere, and only after Pete searched the whole place for anything that might be lurking there.

But, for the first time in a while, Mrs Wentz' son was relatively at peace, in turn, making her feel good, although nervous about what would happen when they returned home.


	7. Chapter 7

And then everything was okay again.

That night, when they eventually returned home, leaning more towards very early morning than very late night, the boys, exhausted, despite the fact they had done nothing but be passengers in one of the longest drives either of them had ever experienced, went straight up to their room; Pete had insisted now, that, since Patrick basically lived there, it should be as much his room as it was Pete's, and Patrick felt honored by this.

But they did not sleep, not initially. Upon Pete's request to do such, they put their bedding on the floor, and curled up in it together, insisting it would make him feel better, feel safer, feel happier, and that was what Patrick wanted most, was for Pete to be happy, and he was more than prepared to sacrifice an uncomfortable campbed for this; if it came to it, he would sacrifice everything, as to him, Pete was much more important than himself.

And that night they laid in the mess of pillows and blankets they had made on the floor, curled up as close as possible to each other, hands clasped desperately, as if one of them would disappear forever if the other were to let go, and they talked for hours, and Pete cried on Patrick, telling him just how scary it all was.

And that was the night that Patrick made his promise, the most important promise he would ever make: "I promise I'll protect you, Pete. I'll never let them get you."

* * *

 

They spent the rest of their summer doing 'normal' teenage boy activities; playing soccer on the big field near the house, playing too many games of FIFA on the Xbox, and even going to the mall and cinema a few times, as well as a few day trips with Pete's mom (his dad worked, like a lot, but came with them when he could).

Patrick was waiting in the reception of the doctors, waiting for Pete to come out of his appointment with Doctor Iero, something neither of them had been particularly excited to attend; for Patrick, waiting around was boring, there were only so many posters and leaflets about whether your child has depression and alternatives to self harming that you could read, and Mrs Wentz had abandoned them in favour of grocery shopping, trusting them to walk to the mall afterwards, and do some pre-school shopping. Pete found the entire thing pointless, after all, he still didn't know exactly why he had to see Iero, but the shrink seemed overly pleased with Pete's progress, and for the first time in forever, Pete walked out of the doctor's office with a wide, genuine smile on his face.

"What's gotten you so happy, eh?" asked Patrick, shoving a few random leaflets on anxiety and panic attacks in his back pockets (just for extra reading, out of interest, would be his excuse when Pete found them later), obviously pleased for his friend, but unsure as to whether you were supposed to be this smiley after a meeting with a psychiatrist.

"Because, Patrick, dear, I don't even know what's wrong with me, but I'm getting better from it, apparently, and today just feels like a really really good day."

They stepped out into the warm sun, enjoying what would be their last walk to the mall before Patrick had to go home, and Pete to start his next year of schoolwork.

Upon reaching it, they went straight to Pete's favorite store, a tiny music store tucked into the back corner. They spent the majority of their mall time in the store, staring at the small selection of instruments on display, and until that day, Patrick always got a little homesick, because back in Chicago, he had his music room, with his piano and drums and guitars, but by that point, it felt more like he was at home with Pete, despite only being there for just short of two months. When he was in the presence of the older boy, both inside and outside of the house, he felt a sense of belonging, something he almost never felt in Chicago, at least not anymore.

Pete sat on the dirty floor of the store, sifting through the small selection of records in a cardboard box marked 'DISCOUNT' hastily discarded under a shelf; Patrick sat beside him and watched, watched as Pete looked intensely at each of the covers, a look of concentration settled deep on his face.

Patrick didn't dare to say a word, because the sight of Pete focussed, yet at peace with himself and the world around him was so rare, yet so beautiful, almost poetic, or at least it would be if Patrick could write poetry, but he was failing English, which probably gives a strong idea as to his poetry-writing ability.

The peace was short-lived; the box was quickly pushed back under the shelf, and Patrick couldn't make out what was at the front, a black cover, and Pete shuffled backwards, almost sat on top of Patrick.

And yet still they sat there in silence, and Patrick wondered what it could be that had set Pete off this time, because for a very short while, everything had been good.

Staring nowhere in particular, Pete opened his mouth to talk, a small voice leaving it as opposed to his usually loud one: "Hey, Patrick... Whats it like?"

"What's what like, Pete?" he asked, his voice sincere, concerned.

"Being normal."

Pete looked up at him, eyes filled with hope, a look Patrick had begun to look accustomed to seeing; Pete often looked to Patrick for answers, because Patrick, be it by coincidence, some sort of special powers, or just an exceptionally clever brain, always knew exactly the right things to say at the right time, to make the situation seem at least slightly more okay.

"I'm not normal, Pete, far from it. I don't know, in all honesty. Normal's different for everybody."

"You're more normal than me. I'm not normal, I know that now, and I don't even know why I'm not normal, but if I was normal I wouldn't be seeing Doctor Iero, would I?"

"No," Patrick said, and that was all he could say in order to be honest with the other boy, because there was no way around it otherwise.

"It's something to do with Mikey, though. He's not really real, is he?"

Pete gave him a look, almost daring him to lie, but it was all relative, because in Pete's mind, Mikey not existing was the lie, and Patrick didn't really know what to do, so he shook his head slowly, and watched out of the corner of his eye as Pete looked away from him, breathed a deep breath and got up, walked over to the other side of the store.


	8. Chapter 8

Pete stayed silent for the duration of the next few hours, talking to nobody, not even his parents, and especially not Patrick, and his paranoid thoughts about the boy returned; had he been brought in by his mother and father to convince him of Mikey in fact not existing?

But of course, he hadn't, he was just a fifteen year old kid from Chicago; the child of a friend of his mother's; and he was not working against Pete, but working to try to help him, but that didn't quite process in Pete's troubled mind.

The silence was almost deafening.

And try as he might, Patrick could not get the older boy to utter a word.

* * *

 

It was the following night that the phone call came; an unknown number calling the landline.

It turned out to come from a phone box, an American phone box, which made it even more unexpected.

"I've landed at the airport. I'll be picking Patrick up in the morning."

Pete was still barely talking: to his mother and father, if it was necessary, but otherwise not at all, and Patrick was ready to give up on him altogether; but Pete had been listening in to the conversation on the phone in the kitchen, whilst his mother was talking to Patrick's in her own room, and so she had no idea he had been eavesdropping.

And he almost gave it away when the phone slipped out of his hand, and a loud sob prepared to erupt from within him, but he caught the phone at the last second, and placed it back on it's stand gently, but he could not stop the tears from falling.

And it was on the kitchen floor where Patrick found him just short of ten minutes later, when he bothered to venture out of the living room, where he sat intensely watching Storage Hunters, a guilty pleasure of his, to get a drink of water.

Patrick, upon noticing Pete, focussed his gaze forward, ignoring Pete as Pete was him.

Pete, at this point, however, was done with his immature vow of silence; in less than 24 hours, Patrick would be gone, and life would be back to how it was before: lonely, and isolated, no contact with the outside world, unless strictly regulated, with terms and conditions and only with a responsible adult.

But Patrick was something more, in Pete's eyes, than just a friend, more than a best friend, but not a lover; it was a different kind of relationship, there was no romance; it was like Patrick had become a part of him, a part that was about to be removed, detached, taken away forever. Pete had fallen in love with Patrick in a way only certain people can.

Patrick felt the same, no matter how badly Pete had acted towards him in some situations. He understood that Pete wasn't the same as him, the same as anybody he'd ever met, and he never would be; he would always have the paranoia, the constant fear, the voice in the back of his head telling him that he was in severe danger, that the world was against him.

And that was okay.

Both of the boys knew that the day was fast approaching when they would be taken away from each other, they just didn't realize quite how quickly, or how painful it would be.

Patrick still didn't know, of course.

He didn't have a clue that he would be leaving for good in just a few hours.

There was no reason why the two couldn't communicate on a daily basis, an exchange of phone numbers was all it would take, but it is much different going from being with someone every day to texting them every now and again.

And, unsurprisingly, as they hadn't spoken in a while, Patrick was a little shocked when Pete hugged him, a tight grip, fingers digging in to his back, uneven breathing which indicated crying; but another part of Patrick half expected this to come anyway, but as an apology rather than a goodbye.

It could have been minutes or hours, it didn't matter, both were comfortable and content, at least partially, just holding each other, and in that moment, that was all that mattered; upon pulling away for a sip of the glass of water which had been sat on the side since the tap was switched off, Patrick gently dried Pete's tears, leaving only a black tinged streak where they had fallen, and no questions were asked, their unspoken mutual agreement for answers, but no questions, standing strong.

Pete shook his head, disbelief crowding his mind.

This couldn't be real.

But it was real, and it was happening in the morning, and everything had to be sorted out now.

"You've got to go," Pete said, voice monotone.

"I know, Pete."

"Tomorrow."

And Patrick could feel the tears ready, but they never came, he couldn't cry, not over this, not here, not now.

He didn't want to go.

But he had to.

Because as much as this felt like home to him, as much as he felt wanted, as much as the Wentz' felt like family, and as much as he was starting to forget about Chicago, it was Chicago where his extended family were, where his real home was, his school and his life, and his mother was picking him up in the morning, and it felt so surreal, because for once in quite a while, he would no longer be in Pete's presence, and as much as he looked forward to hearing his mother's voice again, had he a gun pressed to his head, threatening to shoot, he would probably choose Pete, because that was how much that boy, the boy with a list of issues as long as both his arms, meant to him, and that proved Pete's importance, and their need for each other.

But it was not an unlikely hypothetical situation, it was deadly reality;

and Patrick had to go.


	9. Chapter 9

They didn't waste their last fragments of time, still not quite believing, the both of them clinging to the desperate hope that it was all a bad dream, that the two of them were sharing; a possibility, in that they were so close - a madness shared by two, or perhaps it was something less than a deeply rooted psychological connection, just two teenagers brought together by a large bout of misfortune, or perhaps something more, more than just a psychotic seventeen year old boy, and a fifteen year old struggling to find his place in the world, something in the region of soulmates, be they romantic or platonic.

Perhaps when people just happened to get a little too close to one another, they started becoming one another, the madness not really being shared by two at all, the madness which was previously enclosed in one being shared with another, but not by them, as was the case with Pete and Patrick; spending too much time with someone gave you a chance to begin morphing into them, sharing their delusions.

Perhaps there was a part of Patrick which knew of Mikey's existence in another sense, in that he often thought, nowadays, that he heard a whisper every now and again, to keep Pete safe, and the occasionally overwhelming fear that one of _them_  would be coming for Pete the second he turned his back.

As expected, Pete's mother made her arrival in the kitchen shortly after, to break the news which was no longer really news at all, but they tried their hardest to make their shocked expressions seem genuine, so as not to let on that Pete had been eavesdropping.

And after only a few more tears were shed,they vowed to cry no longer,the situation was most definitely inevitable now, what sliver of hope they had left had vanished; this was not a bad dream.

It was very,

very,

real.

And so they packed away Patrick's belongings, with the exception of his essential items he would need for his final few hours in the Wentz household, and it was a particularly weird sensation, that the time of his departure would be so sudden, so soon. In a short while, the adventure would be over, when it was still nowhere near finished.

They had known each other such a short space of time, and yet, the impact they had made on one another was amazing, anybody could see that; Pete was, for once, making positive progress as opposed to just getting progressively worse, his episodes, both psychotic and depressive, now few and far between, with some real company, something no doctor could ever prescribe him with the   means of medication.

Patrick had changed in a different way, realizing that different people had different needs, different hopes and dreams, were leading different lives, and had different objectives;

what he was yet to learn was that some people never got the chance to fulfill them.

* * *

 

"You know, I really want to be a doctor when I'm older," Pete said, completely out of the blue, as the two of them sat contemplating what to do in the hours before dinner.

"Really? Never had you down as a doctor."

"Well, doctors are happy, aren't they? Take Doctor Iero; he's got to be the smiliest person I've ever met. And that's my biggest life goal. To be happy."

"You know, Wentz, I believe in you. I believe you can do that," Patrick responded, wiping away gently the tear that had escaped from his eye.

"Well... What's your biggest dream?"

"I want to be a drummer in a rock band."

"So, why's it a dream? What's stopping you?"

"I can't play drums."

"So why do you want to be a drummer in a rock band?"

"Think about it. What's your favourite band?"

"Green Day. "

"And Green Day make you happy, right?"

Pete nodded in response, slightly unsure as to where this was going; Patrick always had an idea, so many ideas that it was a wonder he hadn't already created a band, stuck around for twelve years, making records and saving lives, and then just broke up, leaving millions of emos heartbroken. Pete enjoyed hearing Patrick's ideas, however, and some were bizarre, and some were a stroke of pure genius, and Pete knew that Patrick was smart enough to achieve every single one of his dreams, make his ideas a reality.

"That's why I want to be a drummer in a rock band. I don't specifically know why a drummer, but why I want to be in a band, anyway. Bands make people happy; they save people's lives. Imagine knowing you were responsible for stopping someone from killing themself - instead, they're at your concert, screaming your lyrics back at you, because you gave them that chance. You want to be happy;  I want to make people happy."

This time it was Pete's turn to wipe away the tear.

* * *

 

The sky was especially clear that night, and the air warm, but not clingy, and that was how Patrick Stump and Pete Wentz found themselves sat on fold up chairs on the Wentz' lawn at 11:48pm on an evening in late August.

They had been sat out for well over an hour, yet few words had been spoken; the silence was by no means awkward, but something necessary, the both of them readily appreciating it, whilst still appreciating each others company, thinking excessively, almost about what they had told one another about their respective dreams, their life goals. 

Patrick wanted to make people happy.

Pete wanted to be happy.

"I love constellations; the way stars link up."

Patrick had grown used to Pete's mutterings in their time together, but for some reason unknown to him, this one felt different.

Patrick couldn't see the constellations.

And this triggered something inside of him, a chain reaction, too many thoughts all going at once; Pete could see the constellations, whereas he couldn't, but that didn't mean that they weren't real. But, that has been Patrick's reaction to Mikey - he was 't real, because Patrick had never seen him, yet Pete had, and Pete was adamant of his existence.

It was at that point that Patrick realized; the entirety of the world, life as a whole, was based on the concept of perspective. Seeing didn't necessarily have to mean believing, after all, everyone sees death lurking out of the corner of their eye at least once in their lifetime; everyone was a little crazy. And likewise, believing didn't always mean you had to see, because sometimes, to see certain things, you had to had to be a little different; just because two people saw a bunch of stars differently, it didn't mean one was right and the other was wrong, it maybe just meant that they saw what they subconsciously decided they needed to see.

"They're all raging hot balls of fire, yet put them together, and you have a creation, something beautiful."

Pete wasn't really making sense, and Patrick wasn't even sure whether he was supposed to be setting these thoughts free; but he didn't see the picture, the supposedly beautiful creation.

"Can you show me?" Patrick asked, his voice quiet.

"Look up - they're all there."

"But I don't see them."

Pete sighed, his breath soft, catching a little in his throat as he pointed up to the sky.

"You see that star there, just to the right of where I'm pointing? And the one right next to it, and the one next to that? Then go down slightly, there's two more? That's a constellation. I don't know which, but it is; I saw it on TV once. But you can just make them up, I suppose, as that's all they are; dot-to-dot pictures, but instead of the dots being printed on paper, and connected with a pencil line, somebody's brain just decided where the lines were supposed to go."

And Patrick saw, and it was as if the lines were there, drawn, for him,

he blinked,

and the pretty picture was gone.

* * *

 

"-floods in the UK."

Pete felt around his desk and hit his alarm clock, hard. Somehow, it had set itself back to the radio, and so the two boys were awoken by the news.

Patrick lay beside him, awake already, his hand still gripped tightly on to the one of Pete's which was not being used for turning off the alarm, and he didn't let go.

Despite all the silence of the previous few days, that was al."l the two wanted at that moment, silence, allowing the reality of the situation to sink in, because that was it, it was the day, Patrick's last day, their final day together, and then 'Pete and Patrick' were no longer; the world would be left with 'Pete' and 'Patrick', two singles as opposed to their double act.

And then Patrick's mother came, even earlier than expected, and many a tear were shed, and not just from the boys, but from Mrs Wentz, as she knew just how much the younger boy meant to her only son.

And they hugged, and not a high-five, slap-on-the-back bro hug, a proper full-on one, and it could have lasted seconds, minutes, hours; God knows, they wanted it to last forever, because the second one of them let go, they would be ripped apart from each other, now just two separate halves of a whole.

Just before he pulled away, Patrick whispered in Pete's ear, "I don't want to go."

And that was the end of it all.

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

They communicated via letter and phone call every day after Patrick left, in fact, were rarely ever not talking to each other, and although both had a hard time adjusting to being alone again, in a way they were alone together, alone physically, but together at heart.

Patrick had returned to school, and Pete had also returned to school; school being his kitchen, with the laptop and some textbooks, and texting was coincidentally, or not, what he spent the majority of his time doing.

But it was a possibility, a slight possibility, that after Christmas, Pete could go back to regular school, because he hadn't had a proper episode in a long time; a minor depressive episode when Patrick left, but nothing more, and that was a good sign, for everybody, but of course there was still  a chance that he would have a massive relapse sometime in the future, after all, his condition could not be cured.

And that of course was a bad thing;

and the relapse came sooner than expected.

It was one night, the time of year where Autumn is slowly turning into winter; it was November 1st to be exact, and it was cold, but not too cold, the type of cold with a bit of a breeze, refreshing.

Patrick hadn't heard from Pete in a few days, despite numerous attempts to contact him, and he could blatantly see that the first three Snapchats had been opened and ignored; the other eight hadn't even been touched, however, and this worried him, because if there was something Pete always opened, it was Snapchats.

Patrick was doing his biology homework - possibly his least favourite subject, the entire concept of it baffled him - when his mobile rang, displaying Pete's Caller ID, and Patrick answered without even thinking about it.

He was greeted with heavy panicked breathing, the kind he recognized from the incident where they all went for a drive out; and God, that seemed so long ago now, but it was only a matter of a few short months, and even though it came out of a bad thing, it was one of Patrick's favourite days he spent with Pete (and his mother), and it was that night that Patrick made the promise, and it was that night where the two had stayed up talking until the early hours of the morning and fell asleep curled up with one another; it was that night that Patrick missed when he was feeling extremely lonely, cold, threatened, he wished he had Pete curled up in bed beside him, because even though it was his job to play the protector, he too felt safer when the other boy was with him, and he missed his constant presence.

It was that night which was now coming back to bite Patrick.

"Pete -- Pete! What's wrong?" he asked frantically, in response to the breathing from the other end of the line, which had been going on continuously for 2:40.

The breathing slowed a little upon hearing the voice, a deep breath was taken, and then Pete spoke, and Patrick was glad to hear his voice again.

"Patrick."

"Pete."

"Patrick, you promised, you promised I'd be okay!"

"Pete, you're fine. Everything's fine."

"It's not fine, Patrick, it's not fine."

"What's going on, Pete?" Patrick was beginning to get seriously worried, and slightly angry at Pete's negativity, although he knew, of course, that whatever was going on was real, very real to Pete, and he couldn't necessarily help it.

"The voices, I can't control them, there's too many, it won't stop, and they're coming, Patrick, they're coming right now, and Mikey's with them, he's on their side, he's going to kill me. You promised, Patrick! You promised you'd protect me!"

"I will, Pete. I don't break my promises."

"You can't, you're not here, you need to be here, you promised me!"

"Pete, I-"

"No, I have to go, I have to do something, I can't let them get me, I can't let you get me, you promised me, you promised you'd protect me, and now you can't, and I need to protect myself, I need to stop them from getting to me."

"Pete?" Patrick said, his voice raising slightly, like a question, almost failing in resisting the urge to cry.

"I'm sorry, Patrick, I'm sorry. I love you."

"Pete, what are you doing? Talk to me!" Patrick's voice was shaky, his attempts at getting through to Pete becoming desperate as the seconds ticked by, but it was too late, and the line was dead. He called back five times, each time waiting until the phone rang out, and by the sixth time he knew it would be another failed effort, and in some sort of brainwave, he thought to call Mrs Wentz off the landline, a final resort.

The landline also rang out, three times, and Patrick put it down on it's stand in despair, desperate to know what Pete was planning to do, or worse, what he may have already done. And he lay down on his mother's bed, and sighed, a heavy sigh, filled with so much emotion; disgust, sadness, anger; he felt like a failure. He made a promise he couldn't keep; he effectively betrayed the person who meant the most to him in the world, and what did that make him?

And then the phone started ringing, and he picked it up without even checking the ID, in the hopes it was one of the Wentz', and he was not disappointed. 

"Mrs Wentz, please, you need to check on Pete, something's up, something's wrong!"

"Patrick, calm down, dear, Pete's okay."

"No, no he isn't. He just called, maybe twenty minutes ago, he says they're coming for him, and he needs to do something  before they get to him, and I don't know what he's going to do."

"Okay, okay. I'm going to his room now, I'll keep you on the line, then you can talk to him, too."

There was a brief silence as she ascended the stairs, and then a pause in her footsteps; a faint knocking occurred, Pete's bedroom door, Patrick assumed, and then nothing again. 

Another knock.

Another pause.

And then the familiar creaking of Pete's bedroom door, and a gasp.

What Patrick didn't know in that moment, was that she had just discovered her son sat on his bed, slumped over slightly; empty sheets of anti-depressants, anti-psychotics and anti-anxiety meds all around him, as well as some fairly strong painkillers; and next to him, a kitchen knife, and blood on his arms, and wrists littered with cuts, fairly deep.

Patrick heard her voice coming through the speakers on the phone, but she was no longer talking to him, but her son, "Pete... Pete!"

A pause, as she shook him.

And then tears, from both her and Patrick; and she knew that Patrick was still there, but she didn't hang up, that was up to him to do. If he wanted to listen in, she wasn't going to stop him. Her first instinct was to check he was still breathing, and he was, but barely; and even then, she was in too much shock to call an ambulance.

"Patrick, Patrick, he's not okay, he's breathing but he's not okay!"

He got himself under control, put all of his effort into controlling his emotions, which were going wild, "No, he has to be okay. He's breathing, that's good right? But you need to call 911. Now!"

So she pulled out her mobile, called the number for the emergency services, and told them, in between bursts of tears, what was going on, and the paramedics were inside within ten minutes; he was immediately rushed into hospital.

He wouldn't return.

* * *

 

It was almost two weeks later, and Patrick's mother had found it in her to let him take the time off school when it became fairly obvious that Pete wasn't going to get better, and without a question, when he asked, she packed a bag and drove him the four-hour long car journey to Pete's house from their own in Chicago, and the two had been camping in the Wentz' front room ever since; Patrick was offered Pete's room, but he couldn't; the memories were too painful.

And then came the day, the day it was destined for Pete Wentz' life to end.

Patrick sat on one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs the hospital provided for visitors, and it was outside of visiting hours, but they were making special allowances, as after all, this was their last chance to ever see Pete.

But Pete was no longer really Pete; he was just Pete's body, and a machine attached to it, keeping him alive, but not for much longer - there was no hope for him, and so, the decision had been made, and it would be turned off that night.

Patrick hoped that he would somehow make a miraculous recovery within the next few minutes, but that wasn't going to happen; despite having his stomach pumped, the drugs had had too much of an effect on him, and although not lethal, he had lost a fair amount of blood,and Patrick was glad that his arms were now bandaged up; but they would never get the chance to heal.

He also hoped, however, more realistically, that Pete _was_  inside the almost lifeless body, that he knew of all of the visitors he had had, that he knew Patrick was sat beside him now, that he could hear the words being spoken to him; they would be the last he would ever hear, if that was the case. His parents had already said their goodbyes, they let Patrick have the final few words; they believed that Pete would have appreciated that.

"Pete Wentz, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

It was all Patrick could push out, his throat felt like it had the world's largest grape stuck inside it, and for once, he didn't even try to stop himself from crying; he let the tears fall, he felt he deserved it. It was the last time he would ever see Pete Wentz;

the boy with troubled thoughts

and insane nightmares,

but the boy with the prettiest smile

and the kindest heart

that Patrick Stump had ever known.


	11. Epilogue

_Pete,_

_I know you'll never get the chance to read this._

_I'm sorry I couldn't be there to protect you._

_I should have been a better friend, and I'm so, so sorry, because now you're gone, forever, and there's nothing I can do about it._

_Your funeral was nice; about as nice as a funeral gets, anyway._

_You know, ever since that night, the night before I left, I've sat out and looked at the stars, like we did then,  and I remember you telling me about the constellations; at first I thought you were crazy, because to me it just looked like a bunch of stars dotted around the sky, but finally I saw them, and it was beautiful._

_I haven't seen the constellations since - I thought I did, one time, but it turns out they were just conveniently placed airplanes  - but still, be it raining or dry, I sit out and look at the stars and think of you. I like to think that you're up there, somewhere, just chilling with Mikey; at least, I hope Mikey's there, because I'd hate to think you'd be alone._

_I turned sixteen last week. Joe came back to visit, which was nice, but I wish you could have been there._

_It's been nearly three months, and I still miss you, and I wonder if I'll ever miss you any less, if this will ever get any easier._

_I'm going to make it my mission, Pete Wentz, to protect you, until the end of the world._

_I'll see you soon, but in the meantime, stay safe, okay?_

_I love you so much._

_Patrick x_

 

 


End file.
